


Words No More

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:49:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1899633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes is speechless. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words No More

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [watsons_woes](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/) JWP day 4 prompt: _Poem prompt:_  
>  Words! book-words! what are you?  
> Words no more, for hearken and see,  
> My song is there in the open air—and I must sing,  
> With the banner and pennant a-flapping.  
> This is very loosely inspired by the poem. Also fills my [hc_bingo](http://hc-bingo.livejournal.com/) wild card square, for which I'm using the prompt "loss of voice"

When Holmes opened his mouth to speak and no sound came out, it rather startled us both. In retrospect it was not a surprise; Holmes had done quite a lot of talking (and scolding and even some outright yelling) in connection with the case we had resolved the previous evening, and we had frequently been outdoors in all sorts of raw and wet weather. That his throat should become inflamed and inhibit his vocal cords from doing their usual work was a reasonable result of such ill use.

I suggested all of the usual remedies--a warm cloth on the throat if there was enough pain to bother him, gargling salt water, sucking on a bit of candied ginger, and, most of all, refraining from smoking, lest the irritation grow worse. Holmes glowered at me and sighed heavily.

When he finished picking half-heartedly at his breakfast, I expected him to begin his usual post-case brooding on the settee. Instead, he began pacing agitatedly about the room, his pipe clenched in his teeth. I asked what was the matter but he refused to write a response. His refusal to acknowledge my guess that it bothered him to lose his voice gave me all the answer I needed. Even so, there was little I could do since he was not willing to heed my medical advice.

Considering Holmes' usual practice of withdrawn silence after a grueling case, I thought it amusing that Holmes was fussing over being voiceless. Evidently silence was only acceptable when it was a conscious decision and not an enforced condition.

After several hours of restless movement, Holmes got out his violin and let it speak for him: discordant, alternately rapid and mournful music assaulted my ears until Mrs. Hudson brought up our luncheon. Holmes' response to my encouragement to join me at the table was a single emphatic stroke across multiple strings. I correctly interpreted that as a 'no'.

Mrs. Hudson made a comment about the awful racket when she came to clear away the dishes; Holmes played even louder until she left. Then the noise abruptly ceased and Holmes threw himself upon the settee, lying down with the violin and bow still in hand. There he remained for the remainder of the day. Any comment or query directed at him was met with a musical response, and while I still had to interpret the specific meaning, that method was certainly more expressive than Holmes merely gesturing.

The second day of Holmes' voiceless state, he began to heed some of the suggestions I had made previously, including refraining from tobacco. I had abstained the entire previous day, well aware that even breathing another's smoke could worsen the irritation, and was glad he finally saw reason. Either that, or his throat was hurting more and he ceased because it was too painful. I rather hoped it was the former. Just in case, I quietly retrieved some candied ginger from my medical bag and left it next to his violin when he was out of the room.

The empty ginger pouch was on the table next to my plate when I went down to breakfast the next morning, so I made refilling it one of my tasks for the day. Holmes remained secluded in his bedroom until after I left on that errand; he was in his usual prone position on the settee by the time I returned. I dropped the pouch of ginger on his chest and was rewarded with a melodic 'thank you'.

Holmes was wordless for a total of four days. Evidently he had made a practice of testing his vocal ability in private, for when he emerged from his bedroom that day, it was with a soft "Good morning."

I returned the greeting and we sat down to breakfast as if nothing had happened.


End file.
